


The Waiting

by newnumbertwo



Category: Battlestar Galactica, Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 20:31:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newnumbertwo/pseuds/newnumbertwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> Laura reflects on her past experiences, which impacts her decisions in the present...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Waiting

Happy Birthday, [](http://somadanne.livejournal.com/profile)[**somadanne**](http://somadanne.livejournal.com/)!

Title: The Waiting  
Rating: T  
Word Count: ~5300  
Pairing: A/R  
Disclaimer: don't own them.  
Summary:  Laura reflects on her past experiences, which impacts her decisions in the present...  
A/N: Written for the lovely [](http://somadanne.livejournal.com/profile)[**somadanne**](http://somadanne.livejournal.com/) s birthday.  Much thanks to [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/)**fragrantwoods** for beta'ing.  


Laura sat in the doctor’s office. Waiting. The waiting was always the worst part. Not that there were any “good” parts.  It wasn’t that there was anything “wrong.” She was there for a purpose, and then she’d leave, but that didn’t make the experience less unsettling.

Growing up, she’d always associated doctors with hospitals--and hospitals with sickness and death. That association intensified as, one by one, her grandparents succumbed to old age and died after extended hospital stays. It was even worse as she watched her mother go through the process.

Laura was there when Judith was diagnosed.  She sat by her mother’s side, holding her hand, as her father sat on Judith’s other side.  When Judith first discovered the lump, Laura and Edward made a pact that no matter what happened, they’d work together, taking turns caring for Judith, looking after Cheryl and Sandra, and handling the household responsibilities.  Laura’s age and unfailing devotion to her family were contributing factors in their decision.  With ten years between Laura and Sandra, Laura could handle more responsibility than her sisters, and she was driven to step up.

_“Between the two of us, your mother will be in good shape,” Edward said._

_They sat at the kitchen table, the girls and Judith asleep. Laura nodded. She didn’t share her father’s unfailing optimism. She’d always been a realist, but she hoped he was right--and that she’d be useful._

Laura and Edward spent the next few years taking turns missing work and/or school to accompany Judith to her treatments. The family made an effort to indulge Judith too.  Some of Laura’s happiest memories were of the days she skipped school to watch movies all day with her mother. Yet, there was pain attached to those memories:  the sudden anguish in her mother’s face as she laughed harder than her body could handle. They’d stopped watching comedies after that.   
  
As Judith’s health deteriorated, it became increasingly clear that Edward couldn’t handle it as well as Laura. After each piece of bad news, his face revealed his anguish.

One night when Judith went to bed, Laura went on the front porch to talk to him.

_She sat next to him on the swing. “Dad?”_

_He turned to her. “My Laura.” The brightness faded fast, and he said, “I’m not sure I can do it.”_

_“It’s hard.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “But I can do it.”_

_He nodded. “I know you can.”_

_They just sat there after that. In the silence, a new pact formed._

As Edward pulled back more, Laura stepped in. If Judith noticed the transition, she never said. She simply held Laura’s hand tighter, listening to her as she read mysteries. They finished the  _Alphabet Killer_ series and moved on to Prima. They were planning on starting  _Dark Day_ the next week, but Judith died. Laura held her hand, as she watched the light leave her mother’s eyes. It was a horrible sight, but she remained because she loved her mother, and she loved her family, and there was nothing she wouldn’t do for them.

When Edward fell apart, Laura pulled everything together. She planned the memorial service, made the appropriate phone calls. When she needed to miss class to care for her sisters, she did. She even taught Edward’s classes a few times. That was when she realized she could make a go of teaching. Later on, her father had said she got it from her mother, but she thought he was wrong; she got it from him.

When she got home from Edward’s school one night, her father was on the porch swing. It was the first time he’d been out of the house since the funeral. He stood up to meet her. From the porch light, she could see his smile as well as his tears. He was going to be okay. They all were.

_“Thank the gods for you, Laura.”_

_She ran up the front steps and hugged him. “I love you.”_

_He moved back slightly to look at her. Then he kissed her forehead. “That’s what makes you strong.”_

She didn’t feel particularly strong when she stood under the fountain. She was broken.  Lost. This was what came from loving in the end.

But then she walked out of the fountain, ignoring the confused stares. She went home and finished cleaning her apartment. Once again, she planned the three services and made the appropriate phone calls. When the  _driver_ recovered enough, she went to the courthouse to watch as he was put away for the next several years. She even agreed to a blind date and changed careers. But she didn’t love anymore. And that made her strong.

Years later, she was in the doctor’s office for one reason only, swearing she’d leave as soon as she got what she wanted.

The doctor finally entered. “Good morning, Dr. Roslin.”

She managed a smile. “Doctor.”

“It’s been awhile since you’ve been here.”

“Yes. I’ve been busy.”

“And what brings you here today?”

“My prescription ran out of refills. I need another one.”

“You understand the risks?”

She nodded. She’d read the literature. Staying on them for as long as she had increased the likelihood. “I do. But...”

“You’re not ready to be a mother.”

“Yes, that’s right. It’s not the right time.”

The doctor’s expression change slightly, but she chose to ignore it. He schooled his features and said, “With your family history--”   
“I’m well aware of my family history, thank you. I understand the risks, and I’ve weighed them against the alternative.” Carrying Richard’s child was a risk she wasn’t willing to take. Gods knew, he couldn’t be bothered to take any precautions. If he knew the fertility that ran through her family, perhaps he’d change his mind. Not that it was a conversation she wanted to have.

He nodded. “You’re certainly well informed.” He took out the prescription pad and wrote it out for her. “You can get dressed now. I’ll give this to the receptionist, and you can get it on the way out.” He smiled and added, “You might want to schedule a checkup and examination too. You’ll be at  _that_ age soon.”

She smiled. “Thank you, doctor. I’ll take that under advisement.”

They both knew she wouldn’t be coming back.   
.   
.   
.

The next time she ran out of refills she was past the age when she needed to worry. A baby at that point would be classified as a ‘miracle,’ so she could forgo another doctor’s visit.

Her relationship with Richard was waning anyway, so that particular “miracle” was even less likely. There’d never really been anyone else although she did go on the occasional “date” to keep up appearances. She doubted anyone was fooled, but no one cared enough to say anything. As affairs went, their’s was pretty respectable:  In most regards, Laura was preferable to Mrs. Adar. She wasn’t belligerent to the press, and she was someone the cabinet could relate to. The First Lady wasn’t the most pleasant person in the worlds, and the press hadn’t been kind to her as a result. To save face, the official party line was that she was usually off-world “spreading democracy.”

Laura focused on rebuilding her department. She prided herself on running a clean house, and there’d been a hint of scandal in recent months. Laura beat the story by releasing her own:  She fired everyone in her department, save Wally, (who’d always been steadfast in his loyalty as well as a willing “date”) and started from scratch. That was one reason for the waning of their relationship. Another was Laura’s growing discontent.

It wasn’t something she could pinpoint. It was like a headache that wouldn’t go away. Her secretary once asked if she wanted an aspirin.

Laura had shaken her head and said, “It wouldn’t help.”

In truth, she knew exactly what was wrong. What had always been wrong. She didn’t like politics, and she missed teaching. The problem was she was very good at her job, and she thought she could do the colonies good in her position. Also, aside from Wally, there really wasn’t anyone she’d trust to do her job, and Wally had made it perfectly clear he didn’t want it. She’d honor that, but they both knew he’d step up if she ever needed him to. They weren’t at that point yet.

So she kept going to work, continued with Richard, and she had no reason to see a doctor:  She was in reasonably good shape, ate right, and was seldom sick. Plus, she was busy.   
.   
.   
.

When she found the lump, she knew what it was immediately. She was in the shower, and she’d just happened to rub against it. She touched it again. She knew.

She finished her shower and got out. When she was dry enough, she looked at it in the mirror, under the vanity light. It looked like her mother’s. She didn’t need a diagnosis:  she had cancer.

She also knew it was further advanced than when her mother had caught hers. That meant there wasn’t much that could be done.

For once in her life, Laura wished she wasn’t so well informed. She wished she could be ignorant for at least a little while, turning to prayer and hope.   
  
She got dressed and retrieved a cigarette from her drawer, (she seldom smoked, but she needed to then) and reached for her wireless phone. It was time to face her fears.   
.

.

.

Waiting in the sterile office, she couldn't bear to look at the objects in the room anymore.

She'd been sitting in the chair for who knew how long. The words 'I'll be right with you' echoed in her ears. Part of her wondered if he was doing it on purpose. She shook her head. That's what came from being in politics so long.

There were a few pictures on the desk, but the frames were turned in the other direction. Were they of family? Friends? Former colleagues? Fishing buddies perhaps.

She didn't have many pictures on her desk. It was too painful to have those reminders.

She turned slightly to the sole window. It was so close to the ceiling, but on the outer ledge, there was a flower pot with a single flower. She smiled.

Then the door opened and closed with a slam. It was time.

She shook slightly, listening to the footsteps.

He sat down at his desk, his skin was almost the same as the white on his medical coat. “I’m afraid the tests are positive...”

She knew he had continued to speak, but she couldn’t listen anymore. Not then. What was the difference? It was a death sentence, and she had to go to work.

She’d deal with it later.   
.

.

.

She sat on the bed, wearing the hospital gown. Waiting. She heard that familiar grumble as he rustled past the curtain to see her. He had a cigarette already.

“It’s back, isn’t it?”

He shot her that look of his and grumbled. “Who’s the doctor here?”

She rolled her eyes. “You only smoke when it’s bad news.”

“You noticed that, huh?”

She just looked at him. She was the President. It was her job to know things.

“Well, you’re right. It’s back. And before you start your ‘alternative medicine’ mumbo jumbo, let me say there’s a real chance of fighting it this time.”

She nodded. “Alright.”

“Alright?” He snorted. “You’re not gonna fight me on this?”

“Not on this, no. There’s no reason to hide my illness this time.” She sighed. “I’ll do the Diloxan.” She smiled as he let out another puff of smoke. “I want Chamalla too.”

“Once a prophet?”

She smirked. “Something like that.”

“Are you gonna tell him?”

She nodded. That was another difference. “He should know.”

He snorted again. “Get dressed and get out of my sickbay. I have other patients to see.”  He went to the curtain, but turned around slightly. His face lost its usual gruffness. “For what it’s worth...”

She smiled. “I know. Thank you, doctor.”

“You’ll beat it, Madame President,” he said before disappearing behind the curtain.

She shook her head. She shouldn’t be smiling, but she couldn’t help it. Until her responsibilities entered her thoughts. Then Bill’s face. He wouldn’t be able to hide his sorrow--or fight it. She’d have to stay strong for him.

First, she had to tell him.

.

.

.

“We probably shouldn’t be meeting like this. With the trial, I mean,” Bill said before sitting down across from her desk.

She smiled. He was taking his role seriously. Good. At least she could count on his support in airlocking that frakweasel. Not that they’d necessarily airlock him. That would probably be left to the judges to decide. “I know what you meant, Admiral. We won’t discuss the trial at all, I promise. If anyone asks, we’re meeting about Earth.”

“If anyone asks?”

She nodded. “That’s right.  I’m asking you to lie for me.”

“But not about the trial?”

She shook her head. “I’d never do that to you.”

“I know.” He sighed. “What is it, Laura?”

“It’s back.”

She didn’t need to say more. His understanding was immediate. She watched his face fall.  It was just like she pictured it. But then he looked in her eyes. “We’ll beat it.”

She smiled. “We will.”

“In the meantime, what can I do to make it easier?”

She pulled out the pamphlet Dr. Cottle sent her. She didn’t need it; she’d lived it, but Bill...he needed to know what to expect. She handed it to him.

He read the title. “ _What to Expect During Diloxan Treatments_ .” He looked up. “You’re...”

“Yeah.”

He nodded. “Good. I always wondered...did it have anything to do with me? I mean when you...”

“When I refused treatment last time? Oh my, Admiral Adama. Do you really think I would have let you influence my health decisions?”

He snorted. “I guess not.  But things...”

“I know. We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?” She smiled. “You know, I used to enjoy annoying you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

She nodded. “I was cooped up in here most of the time. Trying to handle things before I bumped off. I needed to get my entertainment somehow. I did that by annoying you and teasing Billy.”

He chuckled, and his mirth reached his eyes. “You stopped annoying me a long time ago. I was pretending most of the time. I liked seeing you riled up.”

She grinned. The man was full of surprises. “And now?”

“Now, we’re gonna fight this together.” He leafed through the pamphlet. “This says the treatment will make you weaker.” He looked up to see her nod.

“I know. I watched it happen to my mother.”

He put the pamphlet down and went around the desk to Laura’s side, putting his arm around her. “What’s it like?”

“I’ll lose all the hair on my body, lose body mass, have a weakened immune system. I’ll be tired often and irritable all the time, and--” The tears started to fall, and she broke off.

He leaned down to kiss her forehead. Holding her to him. She let the tears fall. Then she was ready to tell him the most important part.

“And it might not matter, Bill. After all of that, I may die.”

He kissed her again. “We’ll just have to fight harder, then.”

She looked up and smiled. She knew her eyes were shining through her tears. He was a soldier. Maybe that was what she needed. That mentality. The steadfastness. “Thank you.  We’ll talk more after the trial. We have quite enough on our plate, I think.”

Bill let her go. He went back to the other side of the desk, retrieving the pamphlet. “Mind if I take this?”

“I think that’s what Cottle had in mind.”

He nodded. “I’ll see you soon, Laura. Don’t let them see you sweat.”

She wondered how many ways he’d say he loved her before he actually said the words.  Not that she’d said them herself. Loving hurt, and she didn’t want either of them to feel that pain, especially not him.

“I won’t.”

“You never do.”

She could feel the pride radiate from him--even though he was standing near the doorway.  Not even her father’s pride was this strong. It made her wish she was better than she was. She was glad when he disappeared from her line of sight. It was overwhelming.

She looked down at her to-do list. There were quite a few unchecked items. She needed to get to them--while she could.

.   
.   
.

The nightmare, or vision--whatever the frak it was--made her irritable even before the diloxan. As ready to accept her destiny as she claimed to be, she really wasn’t looking forward to being “the Dying Leader” again, and it seemed that aspect of her life was already in full swing.

She didn’t mean to snap at Bill in the CIC, but he questioned her orders. Ordinarily she would have been okay with the give-and-take. It was what made them the effective leaders they were. They weren’t perfect, but they handled the job better than Cain or Baltar, and they were the best the fleet had to offer. But that day, she wanted Bill to listen to her without question, and she wanted him to get used to listening to her visions. That aspect had always been the shakiest part of their relationship.

Laura knew it only improved because it stopped being an issue after her recovery, but it was back--just like her cancer--and he needed to deal with that.

She stormed into the Damage Control Center to compose herself, knowing he’d follow her, and he did.

“Laura?”

“I’m sorry.” And she was. She hated losing control like that.

His face wore his concern. “You’re having visions again, aren’t you?”

She nodded. “Thanks for calling them visions.”

He’d had other words for them before.

He smiled. “I may not understand it, or believe in the gods, but I believe in you.” He sighed. “Are we okay?”

She knew he hated arguing with her.  He liked them to be a united front. She smiled. “We are.”

He moved closer, reaching for her shoulder and squeezing it. “Good. That’s important today.”

She put her opposite hand on top of his. “I know.  Ready?”

He grunted. “My mind’s made up.”

“Shhh. No one’s supposed to know that.”

He chuckled. “I’m pretty sure that’s my expected stance.”

She smacked his hand lightly. “That doesn’t mean you have to make it obvious.”

“I promise to refrain from glowering in his direction.”

“You better.”

He removed his hand and walked to the door. Then he turned to her again. “Laura, good luck today. I wish I could...”

She nodded. “I know. I’ll have Tory. Besides, it’s just some preliminary stuff.” She sighed. “The real fun starts tomorrow.”

“Did you consider what we talked about?”

“Are you sure you want me in your living space, Admiral?”

He smiled. “I think I’d find that tolerable, Madame President.”

“Then the answer is yes.”

She watched him school his features to face the world. He exited and went about his business. Laura left the temporary sanctity of the Damage Control Center.

She retrieved her thermos, sensing Lee’s interest in it. There was a time when she’d have wanted him to know, but it wasn’t like that anymore. Still, his situation pained her. He was married to someone he didn’t love, and the love of his life was gone. She always knew what was between Captain Thrace and Captain Apollo. She’d known it since Kara was lost the first time. The Adamas weren’t very subtle. Oh well, there was only so much she could do, and fixing Lee wasn’t among them. She hoped the relationship between him and Bill improved, though.

She’d heard the anguish in Bill’s voice in the weeks following Kara’s death. At first, it was about losing Kara, but then it was about losing Lee while he was still alive. Of course, he’d never told her any of this. But he didn’t need to. He wore his heart on his sleeve--just like his son.

She left the CIC. She couldn’t stand to be near either of them at the moment.   
.

.

.

She should have seen it coming. She’d noticed his interest in the thermos, and gods know, he couldn’t hide anything. To her credit, she knew where he was going as soon as he approached the stand in that suit. There was a time when she would have been thrilled to see him out of his blues. Unlike his father, Lee Adama was meant for a life outside the military. But now, it was just sad. It was an affront to his father, and he was violating the trust she’d shown him. It hurt.

It hurt more than she would’ve expected. More than the cancer--the first time around. But even then, she felt sorry for him. She knew she’d survive the next few days. Sure, her current “drug problem” would help the defense, but her cancer would help her image. She was about to make Lee--and Baltar by extension--look terrible.

“Finish what you started,” she said. She couldn’t help taunting him. While she felt sorry for him, she was still pissed.

“Why are you taking Chamalla?”

“I’m on Chamalla because my cancer has returned.”

She could have timed the uproar. It wasn’t how she wanted it to come out, but there was no helping that now. She exited the stand, without being dismissed. There wasn’t much order in the court anyway. Not that anyone would dare go against the President and a cancer patient. The crowd pushed, but she could see Lee. He looked tortured. She couldn’t do anything about that either. She tried, and his father tried. He wouldn’t listen.

It was time to salvage the mess he’d made. She knew just how to turn it around, too.

.

.

.

_Not guilty_ . It was a frakkin’ joke. She’d sought out Bill because she thought he would understand. That was another mistake. He’d voted for the acquittal. She shoved him in the middle of his CIC, and she didn’t care. Everyone should know the President of the Twelve Colonies was currently angry with the Admiral of the fleet.

She wanted to leave, but the attack started.

She stood near him by the table, and when she became faint, he was right there, ready to help her. It was good to know he’d continue to care for her even when she was angry with him. Only, she didn’t want it at the moment. She shook him off, and he backed off without resistance. He knew not to push her.   
.

.

.

She, however, couldn’t help but push him. And she pushed too far.

He left the quarters after having the final word. Then she noticed her hair was falling out.  Well, the pamphlet was right. It said between the second and third treatment. She let herself cry. It wasn’t like there was anyone around to hear her.

When she was cried out, she went back to the paper in front of her. She needed to work while she could still sit up for an extended period. No one understood the sacrifices she was making by fighting this. It wasn’t just going to be the cancer. She’d be fighting the treatment too, and she wasn’t convinced it wasn’t the worse of the two. At least the cancer had let her work for nearly a year the first time around. She may be able to live longer than that with the treatment, but what kind of life would it be? She wasn’t sure it was the best choice for the fleet either. They needed a President who was in control of her faculties.  She shook her head. Making Zarek her VP was a mistake. Bill would never willingly work with him--even if he had no choice.

Bill. What was she going to do about him? It was too late at night for her to be looking for guest quarters. And why should she? He was the one who ran. She’d gotten too close to the truth, and he couldn’t handle it.

She’d be leaving the next morning with his son anyway. Then there’d be a few weeks before her next treatment. She’d make sure there were guest quarters then. It was stupid of her to accept his hospitality in the first place. Maybe it was for the best she never got her cabin. They couldn’t even stay a night together without the barbs coming out.

She allowed herself one more lamenting thought about her hair. Then she resolved to have Bill (or Ishay) shave it after her third treatment. Tory had already gotten to work in procuring a wig. She’d need some scarves too. There was no way she’d wear an itchy wig when she wasn’t working.

With that plan in place, she got up from the desk and went into the head to get ready for bed. Splashing water on her face improved her overall outlook. She’d get some sleep--and worry about facing the world the next day.

.

.

.

She lay curled up in her cot, making herself as small as possible.  She wasn’t sure how that would help, but her body did it instinctively, as if she could push _it_ away from her, expelling _it_. Escape.  Wouldn’t that be something?

On her worst days, Judith used to lay like this.  The sight of it filled Laura with feelings she couldn’t understand.  She wanted to hug her mother, stroke her bald head, tell her everything would be okay.  She wanted to take the pain away, but she couldn’t, and she had no way to really understand it.  Until now.

Before Judith’s hair fell out between the second and third treatments, she had beautiful red hair that was just beginning to grey. Laura grew up playing with her mother’s hair, “styling” it. Judith was so patient; she just sat there as her daughter mussed it up, instructing Laura from her chair. She’d rarely raised her voice, but she was a force in her classroom and her home, and it always awed Laura. Laura held back her tears, as she saw the evidence of her mother’s fight.

_“You know what I want to do today?” Judith asked._

_“Anything, name it.”_

_“I want you to play with my hair like you used to, remember?”_

_Laura smiled.  “Of course.  You taught me everything I know.”_

_“Maybe I’ll teach you something new today.” She had a twinkle in her eye. Her mother was full of surprises. “I want you to give me the craziest hair cut you can imagine. Anything you want. Then I want you to take pictures. I want the memories...”_

_Laura looked at her mother when her voice shook. “Mom?”_

_“Then you’re gonna shave it all off.  I got a wig that’s not too different from my hair.” She winked at her daughter. “I’ll probably stick with the scarves most of the time.”_

Laura remembered their laughter the best. Her mother had such a wonderful laugh. She loved a good joke and saw the humor in everything. Now, Laura knew how much work that was. She hoped she had the strength to do it too.

.

.

.

Her communications with Bill the last few weeks had been terse. It reminded her of their early days, only, she had no interest in annoying him, and she knew he didn’t want her riled up. No, it was a fall-out. But they behaved professionally.

Bill had defied her in sending Kara off to find “Earth.” And yes, that pissed her off. It was nice that Kara had no trouble convincing Bill of a miracle when Laura was humiliated and arrested when she’d tried. And, yes, she knew she was being slightly unreasonable. The frakkin’ diloxan was wreaking havoc on her emotionally as well as physically.

He knew she was angry too. And he wisely stayed away. At least until it was time for her next treatment.

He showed up, sat down next to her, and started to read. All of her anger went away, for at least a little while.

.

.

.

She sat in his quarters, waiting. He wouldn’t expect to see her. Even though they’d recovered some semblance of their friendship that morning, they’d argued over the Demetrius. That was going to be a sore issue with her for awhile. Not only had he defied her, but he’d put her--and Tory--in a position in which she’d have to cover for him. Like she needed anymore work to do.

She worked all day, channeling her energy into something productive, as she burned steam. Everyone was wise enough to stay away from her office. Only Tory wasn’t afraid to approach her. Laura admired that. The woman was smart enough to know Laura wasn’t angry with her. When she was angry with someone, she had no trouble letting them know. Bill was the primary target of her ire that day, and he knew it.

After a day of work, she wasn’t as angry anymore. And she was tired of avoiding him every time something came up. They were better than that. Their friendship and partnership were too important. Also, she didn’t know how much time she had left. She wasn’t going to waste it being angry and alone.

The hatch opened. She heard him sigh. It sounded like his day wasn’t much better. She wondered how much she contributed to that. She looked up at him from the sofa, knowing it wouldn’t be long before he registered her presence.

She saw the change in his eyes. Surprise and happiness. That was a good sign.  “Madame President, I wasn’t expecting you.”

She smiled. “I know. I needed to ask you something.”

He nodded, pointing in the direction of the head. “Can I wash up a bit first?”

She smiled. Bill Adama was the most hygienic person she’d ever encountered, herself included. “Of course.”

He hung his service dress coat in his closet and entered the head. Laura gave him a minute, and then she followed him. He looked at her through the mirror. “This feels familiar.”

“You need a towel?”

He nodded. “Please.”

She handed him his towel.

He took it and wiped his face and hands. Then he looked at her. “So you’re gonna ask me to do it, right?”

“Do what?”

“Shave it off.”

Every now and then, Bill could still surprise her. “How’d...”

“I read that pamphlet twice, Laura.” He reached for her hair, running his fingers through it.  “I’ve been thinking about all the styles I could give it first.”

The tears started falling. He moved closer, holding her. “When did you want to start?” she asked.

“What about--”

“Tory got one. And I have a few scarves.”

He touched her scalp. “I think you’ll look great in a scarf.”

“You do, huh?”

“Yeah, you have a beautiful head.”   
  
She smiled. He was so wonderful--even with the drinking and the Demetrius. “Let’s do it.”

.   
.   
.

“I was right.  It’s beautiful,” he said, stroking her head. The scarf had come off hours ago, along with the rest of her clothes. “I love you, Laura.”

She turned to him, and kissed him. “It’s about time,” she said.

He held her closer and she nestled against him. It didn’t matter that Earth was a nuclear wasteland or the problems in the fleet were increasing. After 53 years, Laura Roslin had found her home.


End file.
